Our father who aren't in heaven

So there I am, sitting in the second row of the church where I spent the better part of my youth wishing I was somewhere else. Grams finally got us all in there, and much to my surprise, the walls did not ignite and burn to the ground. Father Buttmunch, who never molested me but was very mean to me in my youth and is therefore on my permanent shitlist, is giving a sermon about how good Catholics go to heaven and the rest of the world goes somewhere significantly warmer. He then calls my grandparents up to the alter to renew their vows in honor of their 50th wedding anniversary. (How cute is that?)

He then calls up the family, by name. Well, until he gets to my mother and I, who he rudely addresses as "some people I don't know" to the entire congregation. Now, not only has Father You'regoingtohell met my mother on several occasions, he is also quite close with my grandparents and has, no doubt, heard countless stories. To my Catholic credit, I was confirmed by FatherIloveSataneventhoughIpretendtobeaholyman, and taught catechism classes at the school which he runs. He also accused a then-non-smoking me, in front of my peers, of going outside during my confirmation classes to smoke. Father hatesyouifyou'renotCatholic knows me, quite well.

Mum and I went up, got misty as we were bathed in the cuteness of her parents and my grandparents, and then spent the rest of the mass scowling at Father Holierthanthou.

Then, the icing on the cake. Cousin Desiree pulls me outside to show me a plaque dedicated to the "unborn babies" ruthlessly slaughtered by abortion.

Is it any wonder I'm an atheist?